Rolling Thunder
by Broth3r
Summary: If your death looms near, at least make sure you go out in a blaze of glory. Oneshot.


"Lieutenant Althouse, this is your last warning. Return to base now or you WILL be fired upon!"

"With all due respect, sir, right now, we couldn't give less of a fuck."

The deafening sound of the sixty year old jet engines roared in the background, as loud as they were the day they were made.

"Sir, every expert in the world says that in a week's time_, that thing_ will have engulfed the entire world. And no one's doing anything. The UN doesn't move its ass. NATO, the same. Our own forces, the mightiest on the planet, are standing still like sitting ducks, waiting for the impending doom. Well, again, with all due respect, fuck that. We might not be able to do anything about it. But if we're all going to die, if seven days is all me and my dear comrades aboard this plane have, then we're not going to cower away on the ground _like some people_ and wait for the sky to fall on us."

Even with the engines' screech, the thundering round of applause the screw gave to their commanding officer's speech was clearly audible on the other end.

"I understand your reasons, Lieutenant, I truly do." The base commander replied. "But regardless, your crew is AWOL with B-52 loaded with _thirty-one tons of nuclear ordnance_! And-

"Lieutenant, look!"

The young officer lost track of the conversation, as junior member of the crew alerted him to the couple of black shadows that had just appeared out of the blue, encircling the venerable bomber like vultures. Yet, there was no trace of them on radar.

F-22's.

"-allow that, no matter the reason. By now, you should have seen the Raptors escorting you. They will open fire in ten seconds. Lieutenant… no, Justin, I advise you take this moment to say your last prayers."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, sir." A third voice proclaimed, unannounced. The elder base commander was frozen, a cold chill running up his spine.

And he wasn't the only one shocked. "What the… Mike, is that-

"Damn straight, Justin." The voice replied immediately. How sweet it would be if the other parties could see its large grin through the radio.

"I'm sorry, commander, but you're not gonna find a single man in Osan willing to shoot down these men." A fourth voice said.

"Lieutenant Colonel Bishop! Captain Price!" The commander shouted, jumping up from his chair and placing his hands on the decorated mahogany desk. "You will obey the order and shoot down-

The rebellious fighter pilot flipped a switch in his cockpit, and his wingman followed suit. The angry commander's voice was silenced, as if it had never been there.

"Justin, let's shut that old man up, ok?"

The lieutenant complied, and cut off the commander as well.

"You told me you weren't coming, you bastard."

"Yeah, well" Michael Bishop answered, stretching his arms as far as the canopy allowed him to "I guess I had a change of heart."

The flight of F-22's accelerated, leaving the bomber's tail and gliding towards its sides, in perfect synchronization.

"So that girl of yours wasn't enough to keep you grounded?"

The B-52's crew laughed, loudly enough to be heard on the other side.

"Oh, don't you worry about that. I feel sorry for her, though: she's gonna to have to watch the end of the world in her bed, because I doubt she'll be able to walk for a week."

The crew laughed even harder, one heavier ECM operator even falling from his chair and having to be helped back up.

"What about you, Price?" He asked. He didn't knew his friend's wingman well, and thus was surprised to see him come along.

"Sounded like fun." He simply responded.

"Well, that I can't deny. It's not every day that we get to ride a nuclear one-hundred-and-twenty ton fire breathing monster straight into the Devil's heart."

"Lieutenant." The B-52's pilot plainly called. He quickly walked into the cockpit.

"Tell me."

He didn't say a word, but merely pointed forward. The dawning sun that had blessed their voyage had been covered by the ever growing thick, dark mass that slowly rose from the horizon, over the Sea of Japan. The scene itself was spectacular, as if mocking the seriousness of the situation, but it was ominous, as not even one ray of the sun's mighty light was able to penetrate the evil that stood in their path.

But even so, the young lieutenant couldn't hold back his excitement.

"Weapons?" He shouted.

"Check!" Someone answered, from afar.

"Guidance?"

"Check!" The answer came from the co-pilot, right next to him.

"Scotch?"

"Triple check, lieutenant!" A jolly voice responded.

"Saddle mounted on the last bomb?"

No answer.

Except for his own. "Fucking checked!"

Again, laughter filled the hull of the ancient bomber, in the liveliest scene it had seen inside it since the Vietnam War.

Too bad it was also going to be the last.

"Plus" Price said suddenly, as if he had never stopped talking. "I kinda have the same dream as you both."

"What?" Justin and Mike asked at the same time, surprised.

"To go out with the biggest fucking bang ever." He answered, dead serious.

After a moment of silence, Justin reacted. "Well then, my friend, you've come to the right place!"

He took one last deep breath, looking down as the sea below them disappeared below the dark wave that engulfed all. His look was not of fear, however, but of defiance.

"Let's rock and roll!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A Madoka story, without Madoka characters! (well, one, but still) I'm a one-man giant blasphemy machine, and I'm rather happy about it. This is an attempt to capture the emotional status of the common human as they see Gretchen threatening to erase the entire planet from existence. I still thought about making an entire series about the last ten days on earth, but... it would end up like pretty much a standard disaster movie (which I love, specially Armaggedon), unless half of them were of Puella Magi and not humans. **

**And, as always, hope you enjoyed!**


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